No Such Thing As Ordinary
by They'reNotSandshoes
Summary: It was a quite ordinary day with a not-so-ordinary ending. July Matthews now absolutely hated men in tweed and November fourteenth; those two bloody things were the reason she was standing in Victorian Era London. Alone. Without that stupid, floppy haired man that had showed up at her flat door that morning to help her. (no Doctor/OC; just them sassing each other. c:)


**Blink**__

_**Chapter One: No Such Thing as Ordinary **_

Not all days are awful, and, most definitely, not all statues are serial killers. But in the case of a certain Miss July Eliza Matthews, on a particular November fourteenth, her day _was _most certainly awful and statues _were _serial killers, thank you very much.

July Matthews was your average twenty-eight-year-old office assistant, standing at a short but proud five-foot-four with long strawberry blonde hair streaked with green. Her eyes were grey and stormy-looking, cool and collected and calculating, able to stare through the most stubborn of coworkers for the last mug's worth of tea in the office any day. Well, at least, _normally_ any day. Not on a particular November fourteenth. The day that her completely satisfactory life was flipped on its head and never put back again.

The day that the funny man in tweed showed up at the door of her flat.

The morning in question was quite an average one: July had awoken to her completely normal alarm on her completely normal electric alarm clock. The news played from a completely normal television, stating just the completely normal things about the occasional bickering in Parliament and the drops and rises in the stock market. July took a deep drink from her mug of tea, smiling contently to herself. Everything was as it should be. Normal.

July absolutely _loved _normal. Everything about it. The young woman lived, slept, and breathed normal. Every detail had to be in place, every piece of her daily routine like clockwork. Setting down her mug of tea and running her hands through her hair, the young woman smiled satisfactorily. It was a completely ordinary Friday, the last completely ordinary- but quite dull, mind- day in her completely ordinary workweek. Tomorrow was Saturday, which meant she was going to stay in for a bit and then go visit Mum out in the country. The smile still remained on her face as she took another sip from her mug and started to the door, the clock reading only 7:45 in bright, blue numbering, chipped blue mug in hand.

A deep sigh escaped her lips as July rested her free (and dreadfully pale) hand on the handle of the door.

Perfectly normal. Normal at its finest, actually.

At least, until there was a rather loud and overenthusiastic knock from the other side of her well-polished door, causing July to stifle a shout and trip on her rather tall heeled shoes onto the sofa behind her, the mug slipping from her grasp and shattering on the hardwood of her flat, spilling tea everywhere.

"'Ello! Is anyone in?" A muffled voice almost shouted from the other side of her door. Standing up abruptly, July smoothed the creases on the skirt of her now tea-stained dress with a look of pure displeasure (it was knee-length and jade green; one of her favorites. perfectly normal to wear on a Friday, after all) and surveyed the damage of the broken cup, only to slip in a puddle of still-hot tea and fall onto the floor instead of the sofa with a dissatisfied _thunk_. "Ooh, are you alright in there?" the voice sounded almost nauseatingly cheerful, as if the speaker didn't care if July was still half asleep and now incredibly ticked off. "Sounded like quite a nasty fall. Did your mug shatter? My apologies if I startled you, only wanted to see if you were in. Might I use your computer?"

Recovering slightly from her falls, the speaker's hurried sentences flooded over July as she sulked in the puddle of what used to be her mug with a pout not unlike a small child's. "Oi, who're you anyways?" her voice steadily rising along with her frustration and embarrassment at the unexpected visitor. "I'm going to be late for work now, thanks to you. My day was—it was—" July struggled to find a word, and she could swear she could hear the man snickering on the other side of the door. "_perfectly ordinary_ so far, and you ruined it. I'm going to be late to my job; I shattered my favorite mug, and ruined my favorite dress thanks to you. So there." Satisfied with her explanation, July finally stood up out of the ruins of her ordinary morning, hair still dripping with tea, and made the few strides to the door and pulled it open with much more force than necessary.

July gawked slightly at the man in front of her, looking him from head to toe as if he were an alien, or at least from a different time period. The young woman was expecting an uptight salesman or mailman, but, instead, she was face-to-face with a man dressed in tweed. He had a youthful twinkle in his eyes, young and ancient at the same time, a strange yet beautiful combination. Floppy black hair and a bowtie framed an old-looking tweed suit complimented with a deep blue bowtie, giving him the appearance of a much older professor instead of the youthful looking man that stood in front of her.

"Oh, Miss July Eliza Matthews," he mused, causing July to take a few steps backwards.

"How do you know my—"

Professor Man fiddled with his bowtie, and continued to speak, cutting July off, his tone much louder and giddy, "Miss July Eliza Matthews, there is _most certainly _no such thing as ordinary. You know it for a fact, actually. Trust me. Now may I use your computer, _please_? All of this will make much more sense later."

The young woman was slack-jawed, cheeks starting to burn with anger at Professor Man's nonchalant, commanding words. Why would she, of all people, sacrifice her comfy, satisfying life of absolute normalness for one that this—this madman was suggesting? A frustrating sigh came from her lips. "Listen, _whoever you are_, you are _not_ going to barge into my flat and ruin my perfectly fine morning. So just go back from wherever in the name of the Queen you came from, I don't want what you're selling, and somehow you know my name—how do you know that?" Professor Man looked slightly amused, a raised eyebrow now accompanying the knowing smirk on his face. He opened his mouth to speak, but July cut him off, still quite angry with him for destroying her morning. "No, you _stop_, Professor Bowtie, you're making me late for work and I—"

"You're being quite difficult Miss Matthews, _it would be quite nice if you quit talking!_" He cut her off with a steadily rising remark, finally leaving her in silence, tea still dripping miserably from not only the hem of her dress but the strands of her hair. "And, to answer your questions, hello, I'm the Doctor," he waved in front of her once again slack-jawed face, "I'm certainly not selling anything, I made your mug shatter on _purpose_; once again, there's _no such thing as ordinary_, especially for you, _Girl from the Past_," he spat the name almost sarcastically, though the youthful twinkle still remained. "And, last but not least, you no longer have a job partially through some of my contacts, and partially because I need your help. Now, _may I please use your computer?_ Thank you," he brushed past her, tweed against slightly sticky shoulder, and dashed awkwardly across her living room: cautiously avoiding both the shattered mug and the steadily decreasing puddle of tea in its center, and, lastly; sliding into the rolling chair in front of the desktop on the other end of the room, pulling up a search engine almost giddily and whirling around to face July, who was still gaping at the man who called himself the Doctor.

"Now, let's get started, shall we?" the Doctor beckoned to July from across the room, and she hurriedly crossed through the remains of her formerly nice day, almost slipping once more in the puddle of tea as she passed.

"Get started on… What, exactly?" the young woman asked slowly, peeking over the Doctor's shoulder as he adjusted his bowtie, the youthful twinkle replaced with fiery determination in his eyes.

"Research. Let's just say.. uhm.." the bowtie-wearing man paused, searching for a reasonable explanation "A very, very evil and awful thing has come to London—or, five to seventeen things, to be exact—and they're one of my most nefarious enemies."

"_One_ of your most nefarious enemies?" July shot back at him.

"I travel. A lot," he fired at her instantly, fiddling with the rollers on the desk chair before starting to type, the keyboard pounding rhythmically at the touch of his hands.

"Mmm, alright. You'll get away with that excuse. For now." A sense of intrigue washed over July's anger, causing her to calm down, however annoyed she may still be. Annoyance equaled sarcasm, that was just one of the several attributes the young woman had acquired throughout not only her career in the business world but through her friends and family as well. "So, anyways, what's this research we're doing anyway, Professor Bowtie?"

"Well, the easiest way to skip all the timey-wimey spacey-wacey things is to just answer a question for me. It'll make things _a lot _easier. Trust me." He still pounded away at her keyboard, strings of letters and images flowing like a stream on the screen in front of him almost hypnotically.

"Alright, let's hear it then. Ask away."

"Tell me, July Eliza Matthews," his voice slowed to a pompous drawl, quiet and knowing, "Have there been any missing persons recently? In the past few months, even? The information could come from anywhere: reported in the news, in the papers, through letter, telegram, carrier pigeon, _anything _that you've stumbled across?" His long fingers had returned to typing furiously at the keyboard, bringing up strings of code, news sites, and lists of missing persons at a rapid pace. The fluidness of his research made July's head swim, it took her several moments to recall any sort of event.

"Yeah, yeah, um—about a month ago or so. It was weird. Out of the ordinary. A group of adults were in an abandoned mansion in the country and—"

"_A-ha!" _The Doctor cut off July with a shout of recognition. "No need to tell me more, lovely Miss Matthews. I'm guessing they disappeared without a trace? No blood, no signs of a struggle, no sign of exiting that beautiful, rickety old house at all?" A numb nod of agreement confirmed his suspicion. A smirk flew across the Doctor's lips as he wheeled around almost giddily to face his unlikely companion.

"Tell me, July Eliza," his voice was that all-knowing whisper once more, "Oh, you beautiful, oblivious, quite presently dull human being," July thought she should be offended at the statement, but the way he said it made the young woman feel almost flattered, as if he were praising her instead of ridiculing,

_"What do you know of the Weeping Angels?" _


End file.
